


The Ambivalence of May

by M_Moonshade



Series: The Cruelest Month [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil hates May. What’s to like about a whole month of mounting lust and sexual frustration with no relief in sight— especially on a year like this one, when he’s got nobody to help him through it. Then he meets somebody else in the same predicament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ambivalence of May

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meveret](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Meveret).



> This involves heat cycles, so there’s a degree of dub-con involved in that.  
> Cecil and Kevin are only vaguely described, etc.

The month of May is a lot of things, but ‘merry’ is not one of them.

In Cecil’s experience, it tends toward one of two extremes: Either it’s hot and passionate, full of fire and sweat and teeth and only dragging himself off whatever surface he landed on because Station Management is snarling at him to get back to work— or else it’s broken hearts and horror and humiliation.

This year it’s starting to look like that second one.

Last year was… okay. Ish. Teddy Williams was going through that rough patch with his wife and they were separated for a few weeks— Teddy was feeling spiteful and experimental, and Cecil… well, Cecil was feeling the full influence of May. Sure, Mrs. Williams chucks live scorpions at him every time she sees him in the street, but it was nice to have someone to spend the month with.

This year, Cecil used up entirely too much of his luck getting Carlos to call him. He’s got a sneaking suspicion there’s not enough left over to bag another miracle. And yes, as the last vestiges of April fade away and the prickling begins, Cecil finds himself single.

This is not going to end well.

He manages to hold off for a while. After all, he’s got nearly thirty years of experience dealing with May. On the first of the month, he buys lube in bulk and disables his water heater. He holds off masturbating until his skin is crawling with sensitivity, and only then allows himself relief. Rinse and repeat. It’s a strained process, but it keeps him from building up a tolerance quite as fast as regular ministrations would. Even so, by the fifteenth he’s jerking off four times a day. By the twentieth the SSP is citing him for irresponsible water consumption thanks to all the cold showers.

By the twenty-fifth he’s a menace to society. His nails leave crescent marks in almost every surface he touches. He can barely drive without wanting to leap out of the car and rip the clothes off pedestrians. He goes the long way ‘round to work so he can avoid all of Carlos’ usual routes— he almost caused a wreck the one time he saw that strong jaw and those luscious locks on the sidewalk.

No, he won’t come within a mile of Carlos. Not when he’s in this state. In fact, there’s not a lot of people he’ll trust himself with anymore. The tension has built to a dangerous level— he can’t promise that the first person who makes skin contact with him won’t be hurt by the time he’s finished.

Earl Harlan had been able to handle him— during, at least, though there were inevitably some problems when the lust-fueled month finally ended— but he’s gone, dragged to some unknown fate by creepy children with silent stares. Those same children were the reason he’d had to restrain himself when Earl came into the studio. Cecil was one judgmental underage gaze away from ripping Earl’s clothes off and showing him  _exactly_ what they could have had, right there in the recording booth.

And now he’s gone.

Cecil’s tried wandering out into the desert in the past— turns out dehydration and heat exhaustion didn’t do anything to help his judgement. He woke up in the hospital, being treated for the consequences of trying to fuck a cactus.

Cecil cringes at the memory, and suddenly becomes aware of himself. He’s idling through the Desert Creek housing development. There are lots of people here— most of them relocated after their homes were destroyed on Valentine’s Day. On the nearest of the nearly-identical houses is a plaque:  _Carlsberg_.

A seething rage boils through Cecil— and his dick jerks to attention. There’s a thought: if there’s one person he wouldn’t mind roughing up some, it’s  _Steve Carlsberg_. But there’s a difference between seeing that spoilsport fucked and actually fucking him. And Steve will hold it over his head forever… but that’s a price he’s willing to—

Wait a second. Hold the phone. He is not actually considering sex with— he shudders— _Steve Carlsberg_.

This is worse than he thought.

Cecil whips the car around so fast it whimpers in protest and zooms out of the housing complex as fast as it’ll take him. He’s still shuddering at the fact that he even considered that… that  _Steve_ … but the lapse in judgement has given him an idea.

Desert Bluffs.

It’s a loathsome and detestable place, full of fiends and monstrosities. Either he’s going to find somebody there who can handle his urges, or the hellscape is going to put him off sex forever. At this point, he’ll make do with either.

He races down Highway 800 at a speed that would put the phantom cars to shame. The Sheriff’s Secret Police see him— they’d be blind not to— but they don’t pull him over. Apparently they’re no more interested in the idea of wrestling him into a jail cell than he is… though now the image does have its merits. Heaving bodies grinding against one another, thrashing and panting and—

_HOLY SHIT!_

He swerves just in time to avoid the outcropping of rock at the side of the road. The car skids violently across the pavement and comes to an abrupt halt in the sand, slamming Cecil’s head into the steering wheel.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._

Cecil’s hands are shaking. His head is bowed against the steering wheel. Something wet is seeping down his aching forehead— yes, blood.

Vaguely he’s aware of another car screeching to a halt, a figure getting out and rushing toward him.

He wants to warn them off— he’s dangerous right now— but he’s breathing too hard to make a sound. He needs help. He needs— he needs—

“Are you all right?” says an unnervingly familiar voice.

Cecil peels himself off the steering wheel and takes a look.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

“ _You_ ,” he hisses, and his traitorous prick gives another salute. The man standing just outside his car door has hair like his, a nose like his— and now that Cecil’s bleeding all over himself, their clothes probably match, too. The other man seems to notice.

“Oh! Hello, friend. Fancy seeing you here.” He flashes that wicked, wicked smile, and Cecil’s stomach twists uncomfortably. “I saw your little skid, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Nothing like an accident to make you late for work, you know!”

Masters of us all, how can that grin get even  _wider_?

“I’m…  _fine_ …” Cecil grates between clenched teeth. Go away. Go away right now.

But that fiend can’t take a hint. “By the way, I never did catch your name. I’m Kevin.”

“C-Cecil.” His mouth is dry. Dear Masters— Cecil can see every bead of sweat on the other man’s brow. The obsidian of his eyes seems to shine in the desert sun. His lips are blood-dark, his face is flushed.

Just from the heat. It’s hot out. It’s just from the heat.

This man may be a fiend, but he doesn’t deserve what Cecil’s fighting down. He tried to help him. That counts for something, doesn’t it?

But Cecil’s nerves are on fire and his clothes feel too tight and he almost  _died_  and Kevin is so flushed and he can’t help but wonder if it would feel like fucking himself and he’s kind of sort of always wanted to do that and  _oh_ —

Kevin’s eyes flick down to Cecil’s mouth. His pupils are wide, his breathing heavy, his lips parted.

Somewhere in the haze of lust, Cecil still has a grasp of logic.

Kevin looks almost exactly like him. Kevin works in a radio station almost exactly like his own. So it couldn’t be impossible— could it?—

“Is it just me, or has it been one hell of a month?” Cecil asks.

Kevin tilts his head in— empathy? understanding? relief?

“You too?” This time his smile isn’t that eerie too-wide grin. It’s… nice. Handsome. Attractive even.

Hell, he’s downright sexy.

Cecil doesn’t give him an answer— instead he grabs Kevin’s head in both hands and pulls him through the open car window. They come together like a landslide, their mouths colliding so hard Cecil tastes blood on his lips. With one hand he’s tangling in Kevin’s hair and keeping him closer, while with the other he scrambles to unlatch his seatbelt. Meanwhile Kevin’s fumbling with the car door— and when that doesn’t work, he climbs in through the window. Cecil’s knocked back by a violent shove, sprawled across the front bench. The seatbelts are digging into his side, but right now he can’t care: Kevin is crawling through the window like an undead Japanese girl out of a cursed television, and it is inexplicably the hottest thing Cecil’s ever seen in his life.

Cecil doesn’t have time to ponder all the things wrong with that thought before Kevin is on top of him. The space is cramped and awkward, but they’re lined up perfectly: lip to lip, groin to groin. Kevin’s kisses are harsh and sharp and full of teeth, and Cecil returns them in full measure. They rut against each other like animals, each point of contact bringing with it a flash of pleasure. But it’s not enough. Cecil’s held out too long for it to be near enough. He claws at Kevin’s pants, and the other man does the same to his, until their thighs are bloody and naked and intertwined. A fist between them— Cecil can’t tell anymore whose it is, only that it grabs two straining cocks and pumps them hard, squeezing them together and rubbing and jerking and oh  _yes_.

Cecil can’t remember the last time coming has felt this good. He shudders and curls into his double, burying his face in Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin smells of copper and dust and sweat, and Cecil inhales him eagerly.

He only gets a few minutes of respite before he can feel the ache return, winding him tight as piano wire. Kevin must be feeling it too, because he pushes himself up and leans forward, running his tongue in hot stripes up Cecil’s cheek and over his forehead. The saliva turns pleasantly cool when the air hits it, and Kevin is rubbing up and down Cecil’s body like an attention-starved cat.

Cecil throws his head back to groan, and Kevin silences him with a kiss. There’s the taste of copper and salt again— oh. Blood. He was licking the blood off Cecil’s forehead.

For a moment Cecil’s repulsed, but on second thought… no, actually, that’s kind of hot. He swirls his tongue with Kevin’s and runs his teeth along his double’s lower lip. There’s some blood there, too, from the earlier kiss; the thought makes Cecil growl with pride.

Kevin pulls away and continues licking. There are drops of blood on Cecil’s chin, his neck, his shirt— Kevin catches the fabric with his teeth and tears it with a satisfying  _rrrrriiiiip_!— coveting every drop. He fumbles behind him for the door handle and throws open the door to give himself more room as he continues scooting down, down,  _down_.

Cecil’s thighs are striped by deep scratches, and Kevin traces his tongue over every inch of them. He licks at the delicate crease where leg meets groin, and Cecil jerks with a cry. Kevin only chuckles and continues. He’s not just lapping up the blood anymore, but the semen smeared across Cecil’s stomach and thighs. Between long strokes of his tongue he’s whispering— “So good, so delicious, oh Cecil, do you have any  _idea_ …” — and each word drags Cecil’s voice an octave deeper as he growls in pleasure.

Kevin’s precariously balanced halfway out of the car when he descends on Cecil’s cock. A few long licks at first, up and down the shaft, and then he takes it all down, sucking like he could swallow it whole. Cecil howls at the sudden sensation, and it only spurs Kevin on. His teeth are sharp, and the way they scrape over the sensitive skin makes Cecil’s eyes water. Any other time of year, Cecil would be scrambling away, but this is May, and there are no more lines between pleasure and pain.

“Come on,” he snarls. “Show me what you’ve got.” He bucks wildly into Kevin’s mouth, grinning with savage pride when the other man chokes on him. It’s a volley, back and forth— Kevin sucks and licks and bites, and Cecil curls over him, grabbing him by the hair and twisting him in all the best directions, clawing at his back and shoulders until his shirt is in shreds. Cecil comes in a tidal wave down Kevin’s throat. He doesn’t have time to savor the sensation before his knees are hoisted over Kevin’s shoulders and the other man is ramming into him.

“Oh Cecil—” He isn’t sure if it’s a sigh or a growl. “So loose for me. Got yourself nice and ready?”

Cecil arches back against the upholstery with a grunt. “Hell if you don’t know.” He’s been fingering himself wide since morning, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for Kevin’s girth like that.

This isn’t sex, it’s a battle— panting and snarling and hissing. Kevin rams into Cecil like a piston, and Cecil howls and writhes and kicks so hard that he’s pretty sure he’s cracked a few of the other man’s ribs. Kevin grabs his cock and pumps him hard, and this time Cecil is vaguely aware of the pain of it before he’s coming all over again.

This time, orgasm comes with relief— real, actual relief. After a solid month of unresolved tension, he collapses like a marionette with its strings cut, and Kevin crumples into the sand outside the car.

No, that’s not right. Cecil drags himself upright and extends a hand to the other man. “Come on,” he rasps, and Kevin accepts his help with a smile that’s too shaky to be creepy. “You all right?”

“Swell,” Kevin says. He’s bruised and limp and bleeding, but there’s no hint of irony in his voice. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Same to you.” He turns the key in the ignition, and a blast of blessedly cool air washes over them both as they sit in silence. It’s nice— companionable— but eventually thirst overcomes exhaustion. “Water?”

“Please.”

Cecil drags himself out of the car with difficulty. Every muscle is strained and sore, his joints are weak and wobbly, his legs feel downright boneless, but eventually he manages to wrestle open the trunk and pull out an armful of water bottles. He buys them by the case— a necessary precaution in the desert, and even more so when you’re prone to suddenly losing a whole lot of fluids at a moment’s notice.

He hands one to Kevin, dumps the rest in the passenger seat, and chugs down the last one. The water is warm and tastes of plastic, but the relief is heavenly. When the first bottle is empty and crackling in his grip, he tosses it in the back seat and grabs another one, pouring it out over his head. It washes over him in rivulets, cool and clean against his hot skin, stinging where sweat runs into his open wounds.

The car’s engine goes quiet; the keys jingle as they hit the seat. Kevin climbs out of the car, his eyes flitting over Cecil’s mostly-naked body with a maddening combination of curiosity and hunger, and Cecil feels another swelling of arousal.

He grabs a third water bottle and pours it out over his chest, thoroughly enjoying the sound Kevin makes in response. Kevin creeps closer, rubbing up against him as Cecil pours out bottle after bottle over him, washing away the blood and sweat. Their skin is wet and slippery, their hands slide all over one another, and it isn’t long before Cecil has Kevin bent over the hood of his car, rubbing aloe into his back while he’s rocking into him. There’s no desperation this time around— just waves and crests of pleasure, the indulgence of feeling hunger and being satisfied.

The sky is giving way to void, the water bottles are drained, and the two men are thoroughly exhausted by the time they call an end to the night.

“You need something to wear?” Cecil asks, pulling on a fresh pair of pants from the trunk of his car.

“Nope, I’ve got it.” Kevin’s grin is weary but electric, and Cecil isn’t surprised. If Kevin’s been doing this as long as he has, he doesn’t just have one set of spare clothes squirreled away for events like these. “But thank you very much!”

The shirt presents some more difficulty; it scrapes painfully over the sunburn on Cecil’s shoulders. Looks like he’ll still be taking cold showers after the month is over.

“So how long do you have left?” he asks.

“About a week,” Kevin replies. “It usually ends on the half moon for me. You?”

“Same.” A moment of consideration. “Hey, Kevin, toss me your phone.”

It says something about the other man that he obeys without hesitation. Cecil tries not to give it much thought before he finds the contacts list and enters his information. The first time they met, they nearly killed each other, after all. And he’s pretty sure there’s an extensive list of people who would run away screaming if they’d gone through what he has today.

All the more reason to keep Kevin on hand. He saves the contact, and sends himself a text from Kevin’s phone before he tosses it back.

“If things get bad again, call me.”

Kevin’s face softens in the dying light. He looks genuinely touched. “I will. Thank you.”

The moon is high and Cecil’s eyes are blurring by the time he gets back to his apartment. He doesn’t even bother to lock the door behind him when the trudges inside— the Faceless Old Woman will take care of that for him, he hopes— and flops, fully clothed into bed.

It’s the first restful night’s sleep he’s had in almost thirty days.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [On the Joys and Pain of a Month in Late Spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165385) by [punkrockgaia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia)




End file.
